


It's a Stan-Festival!

by wonderboi



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Incest, M/M, One Shot Collection, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderboi/pseuds/wonderboi
Summary: A collection of short one-shots made up of the many, MANY ideas I have.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	It's a Stan-Festival!

**Author's Note:**

> me: i should finish my other fics before i start another wip  
> my brain: no  
> me: ur right

"Prince Stanford," the attendant said. "This is Stanley, he will be your royal knight." 

Stanford looked at the other boy with confusion. The other boy was unnaturally similar to himself. Height, face shape, eyes, nose - it was practically like looking into a mirror. The only difference Stanford could parse from this first meeting was their wardrobe and - oh - this _‘Stanley’_ was smiling. He was missing one of his front teeth.

“How is he supposed to protect me?” Stanford asked. “He is a child.”

Stanley spoke up then, and even their voices were similar. “You’re a kid, too.”

The boy’s handler pinched his ear, hissing _‘That’s the **prince,** show some respect for once.’_ and Stanley rubbed his red earlobe with a pout. It was not often that Stanford socialized with other children his age. Was this how they normally acted? Without thinking? Without a care? Stanford thought the idea enviable.

“He is only assigned to you in name currently,” the prince’s attendant clarified. “He will be trained as a knight starting today. You will grow up together and he will know you intimately, so he may protect you better.”

“So like mother and father’s right hands?”

“Exactly so, my prince.”

“Did they also meet their knights at my age?”

“They did,” the attendant said. Stanford watched Stanley and his handler speak privately - though it was more akin to Stanley being lectured. The handler was patting down his clothes and straightening them out when Stanley glanced towards the prince and caught him watching. Stanley smiled and waved, showing off the gap in his teeth.

Stanford found himself waving back.

* * *

Stanford discovered the reason for his and Stanley’s similar looks quite suddenly, one morning when he was whisked out of bed and dressed in clothes he did not own. In fact, they looked like the tunic and pants that Stanley always wore. In a sleepy haze he had asked his maids why he was being dressed like this, and they told him that his attendant would brief him.

When he was released into the parlour, he found his attendant, Stanley’s handler, and Stanley himself - except Stanley was dressed in Ford’s clothes. If he had thought that it was like looking in a mirror when they met, he would have been a fool. With Stanley wearing a spare pair of Ford’s glasses it was truly like looking at a walking, talking version of a mirror. The attendant and handler were speaking in a tense tone to Stanley - but it was neither that nor the clothing swap that truly made Ford uneasy. It was the serious expression on Stan’s face. Stanley was _never_ serious. In fact, he had told Ford as such when they were alone together.

Then Stanley caught a glance at Ford, and that familiar gap-toothed grin burst into existence in front of his eyes. He waved at Ford, and suddenly the attention was on the prince again. His attendant informed him that the Queen had received word of an attempted kidnapping to be taking place that very day. As Ford’s knight and body-double, Stanley’s responsibility would be to take his place.

“But what about Stanley?” Prince Stanford asked. “Won’t he be kidnapped instead?”

“Not if we can help it,” the handler said. “All of the guards will be on high alert. No one will approach you without us knowing; however, we can never be too careful.”

“What if he is kidnapped?” Stanford insisted. “Will he get hurt? What will they do with him when they discover he is not me?”

“Don’t worry, Sixer!” Stanley said confidently. “I’m strong! I can fight them all off with my bare fists!”

The handler pinched Stanley’s ear (a common occurrence) and scolded him. “No you will not! That is not part of the plan - and I have told you countless times not to refer to the Prince in such a manner!”

Stanford spent the day as Stanley while Stanley spent the day as Stanford. As time went on, the novelty wore off and Ford became more concerned with his knight-- no, his _friend._ Would the kidnappers take Stan away? What would the kidnappers do with Stanley when they found out he was not the Prince? Would they still use him as a bargaining chip? Would they punish him for his trickery?

Would they kill him?

The thought put a rock in the pit of Stanford’s stomach. He was constantly distracted during their shared lessons. Where normally Stanford would be finished with work within the hour, he found himself unable to read entire paragraphs without drifting off. During meals he picked at his food while Stanley gazed at him with a furrowed brow. As they were supposed to be putting on an act, not to mention being intently watched by guardsmen, Stanley could not steal Ford away and ask him what was wrong.

It was after night fell that Ford’s nerves reached a breaking point. His attendant and the guards had told them that the kidnappers would be likely to appear during the dark, so they were to sleep in the same room. Absolutely under no circumstances were they to leave the room. Where once the floor-to-ceiling window view of the night sky gave Stanford comfort, now it only called forth terrifying scenarios of cloaked figures breaking through and stealing away Stan. 

“Psst,” came a quiet whisper. It knocked Ford out of his reverie. He turned to look at his bed, which was now Stanley’s, to find the boy looking at him. “Psst, Sixer. You awake?”

“Yes,” Ford answered. He shuffled around for the umpteenth time in his lumpy, temporary cot.

“You wanna, uh,” Stanley glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck. “You wanna sleep in your bed?”

“They said not to, remember?” Ford said. “We have to keep being each other.”

“Yeah well, if I’m the prince today… I order you to share the bed with me. It’s too soft and I’m not used to it. And I’m scared of the dark or something,” Stanley grinned as he hammed it up. “Come protect me, loyal knight.”

Ford found himself smiling back. 

“As you wish, My Prince.”

He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Hidden under the sheets, the two boys held hands.

* * *

No one had been kidnapped that night, nor the next. It was an entire decade later when Stanford was next put in danger.

Imagine supper time in the castle. The King and Queen sat at the long dining table, both of them on opposing sides. Ford sat in the middle on the west side, while Stanley sat directly across from him. Though his mother and father’s knights no longer dined with them every single evening, Stan was still expected to spend every waking moment with his Prince.

That night the chef had made a delicious cooked bird, drizzled in herbs and honey. Stanford ate his vegetables first, while Stanley always ate his favourite part (the meat) first. Everyone at the table was almost finished with their food when the doors to the dining hall swung open, hitting the stone wall with a loud BANG! All eyes in the room turned to look.

A simple maid stood hunched in the doorway, unsteady on her feet. She gave a panicked look to the royalty in the room before her pale face drained of colour entirely and she fell. The woman hadn’t even hit the carpet before both the King and Queen were out of their seats, ordering the guards to take position. 

Stanford watched as blood pooled underneath the maid laying in the doorway. He knew her face, he knew her name. She came every morning to change Ford’s bed linens. Now she was dead. He had watched the life drain from her very face. All of Ford’s training in such dire situations suddenly flew out of the window and he was caught staring. 

He did not notice how Stanley had dropped his utensils as soon as the King and Queen had stood up. He did not register Stanley vaulting over the dining table and landing at Ford’s side. However, being picked up and swung over a strong shoulder like a sack of potatoes snapped Stanford back into reality. 

He gave a token struggle. “Stanley-! Put me down, I can walk!”

“I can run faster than you,” Stanley said simply, and did just that. 

Stanford had watched Stanley train for their entire lives. He knew of Stan’s physical prowess and abilities, but being on the receiving end of them was an entirely different experience. Stanford knew how much he weighed due to the regimine his dietitian had put him on and his bi-weekly weighings - he was not considered _‘light’_. In fact, he was heavier and more well built than many of the staff at the castle.

However that did not seem to matter to Stanley. Still he carried Ford like a sack over his shoulder as he ran from room to room. From where he was, Stanford got a good view of all the guards running in the opposite direction they were heading in. Muscling past staff, winding through narrow hallways, or going up a flight of stairs - Stanley held Stanford through it all. Even when they climbed the tallest tower to the very top, which Ford could have definitely climbed on his own, Stanley refused to let go.

It was only after they reached their destination and Stanley flung open the door that he put the prince down.

Panic gripped Stanford tightly as he felt his loyal knight's hands leave him. He reached out and clamped onto Stanley's arms. "Don't leave!" he ordered - no, begged. 

A memory came to him: a fortnight ago, the sun low in the sky, painting the study in orange and pink. Stanford watched the slow, steady rise and fall off Stanley's chest as he leaned against the wall, having fallen asleep during a lesson once again. 

His tutor coughed to get Prince Stanford's attention. "Do you need me to repeat myself, your majesty?" 

"My apologies," Stanford shook his head, annoyed at himself for getting distracted. "I am listening now." 

Instead of speaking, the tutor just hummed in thought. "I suppose it is not surprising that you are easily distracted, sire. This is the fourth instrument you have mastered now. Would you prefer to stop your cello lessons and begin another?" 

"No, no - It is not that. I still feel like there's room for improvement," Ford hesitated. "However…" 

"Is there a problem, your majesty?" 

"I…" Prince Stanford glanced at his knight. "Do you not think that Stanley and I spend too much time together? I know that it is how things are, and yet…" 

The tutor tilted his head in confusion. "It is your attendant that schedules such things, not I." 

"I am fully aware of that. It’s just that… spending every waking moment with him-- it feels suffocating.”

Now the words haunted Ford and chilled him to his bones. It was rapidly becoming a very real possibility that Stanley could go off to fight and die, and Stanford would never see him again. He would never spend the day with him anymore. He would never hear his voice nor his boisterous laughter. He would never see the contagious cheer that Stanley would radiate when he accomplished something big during training.

The fear _suffocated_ him.

But Stanley only held him in return, his grip much gentler than Ford’s. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Sixer,” Stanley said. “My duty is by your side, and nowhere else.”

And Stanford found that he could breathe again.

* * *

Stanford looked upon his youth with both a fondness as well as embarrassment. Such a childish thing, to think of his loyal knight as _‘suffocating’._ Perhaps it was because Ford had never truly been in danger, and therefore never saw any reason for an intimate bodyguard.

Since then, Stanley had proven himself to be a more than capable warrior time and time again. Both at home and in the fields of war, Stanley had stood by Ford’s side and protected him. Sometimes this even included taking a hit meant for Ford. Ford didn't like those times. 

Prince Stanford, now King, held a deep respect and appreciation for his loyal knight. He enjoyed the time they spent together, especially when it wasn't clogged with work. The times in between meeting with the public, when they could eat dinner in peace together and speak openly. As Stanford sat in the study and Stanley rested in the chair Ford had bought exclusively for him. When they spoke about everything and nothing, and when they didn't speak at all. 

But Ford was beginning to lose enjoyment in working with Stanley… If Stanley was working, that meant he was protecting Ford. If he was protecting Ford, that meant he was putting himself in danger. 

It was after Stanley lost his eye that Ford had a talk with him. 

"Stanley… I think it's time that you retire." 

"What?!" Stanley exclaimed. He sat in a cot in the medical ward, half of his face covered in bandages. "What did I--? Er, if I may ask, my lord, what I've done to make you come to this conclusion?" 

Stanford frowned. He didn't like it when Stan spoke to him in a formal manner. Ever since they were children, he had had an appreciation for the way Stan treated him as an equal. The only time he spoke to Ford all 'stuffy like those pricks that want shit'. 

"On the contrary, you've done an excellent job as my body guard. In fact, you've exceeded my expectations." 

"Then why…? What can I do to change your mind?" 

"Why would you want to change my mind?" 

"Because I want to protect you, idiot!" 

Oh. So Stanley felt the same way. 

"Oh," Stanford said. 

"I can still be useful," Stan continued. "Just give me a chance-" 

He stopped talking when Ford lifted a hand to silence him. "I think there's been a misunderstanding here. I do not wish you to retire because I have no use of your or whatever you may think. It's because I don't want you to be hurt." 

"This about the eye?" 

"No," Ford said. "Well, that's part of it. I just…. do not like seeing you hurt." 

"Well I don't wanna see you hurt either," said Stanley. "And when I'm doing my job, doing it _right,_ neither of us get hurt. Especially not you." 

Ford hummed in thought, pondering their conundrum. He looked at his knight in shining armour, no longer in armour and just in his skivvies, appearing so vulnerable in the hospital bed. Not vulnerable in the traditional sense. Stanley was still as large as ever, honed from a lifetime of training, and rounded at the edges from good food and drink. 

No, he looked vulnerable in the face. For the first time that Stanford could remember, Stanley had his head tilted down in respect of his King. It was an expression Ford knew well from public hearings when commoners and the impoverished asked for his aid. Scared, nervous, _miserable._

Ford didn't like the look on his knight. 

"I see," said Ford. "If you are happier as my bodyguard, then you shall keep the title and position." 

Stanley smiled, and Ford liked that look better on him. "Won't let you down, boss man." 

Ford returned the grin. "I know you won't."

* * *

Stanley was fine being Ford's body guard. Really. Seriously, he was fine with it. More than fine. He was happy.

Could he be happier? Yeah, maybe.

But what he wanted just wasn’t possible. It was silly and childish and unrealistic. He was better than that, more of a professional. Okay, maybe he didn’t always act like a professional, but he definitely was one. He took his job seriously and did it well - that meant that he was a professional.

A real professional wouldn’t be in love with their charge.

Especially if their charge was an annoying know-it-all who was too busy with his nose in a book to learn how to talk to people without offending them and almost starting a war. Even if his know-it-all rants were kinda cute because his eyes would sparkle, and his mumbled ‘thank you’s made his heart stutter when Stan guided him away from a wall because he was too busy reading to look where he was going.

Sir Stanley had it bad.

But he really was fine with it. When he was younger and more impulsive he had hated it. He had hated the caste system and all of the rules that came with his job, especially that big rule of **’DO NOT SEDUCE THE KING’**. There was an uncountable amount of times that Stanley had helped Ford sneak away to the library not because he liked books, but because he wanted time alone with Ford. An impossible number of times when he had almost kissed Ford when he wasn’t paying attention, or when he was gesturing wildly about some nerdy subject he loved. Stanley wanted to be that nerdy subject, or a book, or literally anything that earned him _That Look_ from Ford.

As an adult he knew better now, even if his heart didn’t. He was happy sticking by Ford’s side and protecting him.

And sometimes, when Ford glanced at him and grinned with a shared inside joke, Stanley forgot that Stanford didn’t love him the same way.

* * *

“Here, let me help with those,” Ford said, trying to slip into Stanley’s spot in the kitchen.

“What do ya think you’re doing?” Stanley asked incredulously. “This is my job.”

“No it’s not. Protecting me is your job, not washing the china.”

“Isn’t that why you brought me along? To scrub your house and rub your footsies?”

“N-No…” Ford turned a slight shade of pink, but at least he stepped away from the sink. “Of course not.”

“Well excuse me, _Your Majesty,”_ Stanley said sarcastically, which was the only way he ever said Ford’s proper title. “If I misunderstand the purpose of my being in your private retirement mansion when you have dismissed all other staff.”

“Yes, well,” Ford said. “There’s a perfectly good explanation for that.”

He did not elaborate.

Stan sighed. “‘Kay, sure.”

“Aren’t you… aren’t you going to ask?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well I can guess pretty easily. Even though you’ve been King forever, you still hate socializing with people and are basically just a scholar in a crown. Also you hate it when people gossip, and ever since you handed over the kingdom to your niblings people have been doing nothing but gossip. Also--”

“You’re not exactly wrong,” Ford interrupted. “But you’re also… not exactly right either.”

“‘Course I’m not wrong. I know you too well,” Stanley finished up drying the dishes and rubbed the towel over his hands.

“... You still haven’t guessed why I fired all of my staff but you.”

“Cause you still need muscle, duh.”

“No.”

“Cause you’re a lonely sap.”

“Incorrect.”

“‘Kay, fine. I give up,” Stanley shrugged, used to going along with his boss’ whims. However, Ford didn’t continue speaking until Stan looked at his face. Ford had a pensive expression on his face. No, not quite pensive. It was… nervous. Almost shy. It was an expression Stanley hadn’t seen on Ford’s face since they were kids and Ford would get flustered speaking with especially accomplished scholars. 

“I must confess, Stanley,” Ford said quietly. “That I had ulterior motivations to my retirement, as well as having you be my only staff in this property far outside the city.”

“You finally gonna off me, boss?” Stanley joked. It was an instinct when he was feeling exposed or nervous, as he did now. There was a tiny part of him that flared up at the words that Ford had chosen, something that most people may have labeled ‘hope’. Stan called it his inner rube.

“No!!!” Ford almost shouted, the redness in his cheeks turning from embarrassed to offended. The sight made Stanley chuckle. Stanford gathered himself again, taking deep breaths before continuing his train of thought. “No… My true reasons are entirely selfish.”

“Obviously you wanna talk about it,” Stanley said. 

“I…” Ford hesitated. “I - Well, before I tell you, you must know that my previous status means nothing at this moment. Please do not take into consideration that I used to be king, or that I am currently still your employer. In this moment, I am but a man, and you--”

“Just spit it out!”

“I love you, Stanley!” Ford blurted out.

Stanley found himself at a loss for words.

Not knowing what to do in the silence, Ford just trucked on. “I-I have feelings for you, I mean. Romantic feelings. I think I have for… quite some time. I know it is not appropriate of our stations, and that is a large reason why I held out until now to tell you, but I always wanted to. Tell you, that is. We are extremely different in multiple ways, but I cannot help but feel this way. You-you make me laugh, and smile, and throughout all the years together you have made me happier than anything else. I just--”

Stanley clapped his hands onto Ford’s cheeks. “Ford, breathe!!” 

And Stanford did. He gasped in oxygen for the first time since he began his long rant, and then breathed with his knight as Stanley guided him with _‘in... out... in... out…’_ until eventually his heart rate slowed back down.

“Better?” Stanley asked.

“Y-Yes,” Ford said

“Good,” Stanley said, and then he kissed him. Ford let out a whimper as his knees almost gave out, his oxygen-deprived brain still recovering. It was a good thing that Stanley was holding him with those large, strong arms of his… Those arms worthy of a great grizzly bear, currently moving from holding Ford’s cheeks to wrap around his waist and pull their bodies close. Stanley’s mouth tasted familiar as all flesh and spit does, and yet completely life-changing. Perhaps it was just the fact that it was Stanley he was swapping spit with - the man whom he had fallen in love with and shared his life with.

“Stanley…” Ford whispered between kisses. He never knew he could sound so needy, and neither did Stanley, who groaned and pulled their hips impossibly closer together. Even with their advanced age, both of their feelings amplified their arousal and they could feel themselves and their partner rising to the occasion. “Stanley…” Ford said again, more insistent.

“What?” Stanley growled. He didn’t want to talk. Talking meant that he was using his mouth for something that wasn’t kissing the man he loved.

“I don’t want this to just be--” Ford gasped as Stanley moved his lips to his neck. “-- to just be sex. Y-You don’t owe me anything, I’ve stopped thinking of you as my bodyguard for a long time.”

“What’re you talking about?” Stanley asked, annoyed.

“I mean I love you,” Ford fought his arousal for control of his body in order to push Stanley away. He wanted to look into his eyes - to know he truly wanted this and he didn’t feel like he needed to do this because Ford was his employer. “I love you, Stanley. All of this - giving up my crown, moving away from the city - it was all so I could be with you. For real. As… as a couple.”

“I got that, knucklehead,” Stanley flicked his king’s-- no, his _partner’s_ forehead, just as he did when they were smaller. “When have I ever done anything I didn’t want to do because you had a fancy title?” Other than keeping his feelings a secret, anyways.

Though Ford just chuckled and rubbed his forehead. “I suppose I am a lucky man, then.”

“Damn right you are,” Stanley growled. He spun them around so that Ford was pressed against the countertop, boxed in by his knight in shining armour’s arms. “I’m a catch.”

“That you are,” Ford smiled warmly. 

“Maybe you are too,” Stanley murmured as he leaned in closer, eager to continue their makeout session.

“Stanley.”

“Yeah?”

“Before we start, I have something to tell you and something to ask you.”

“Anything you want, honeypants.”

“Alright,” Ford said, with a shit-eating grin. “You’re fired.”

“What the f--?!”

“Now since you are unemployed and unconnected to the crown - will you do me the honours of becoming my life partner?” the shit-eating grin morphed into something warmer, something more vulnerable. Stanley groaned, this man was such a brat. He definitely didn’t get it from Stanley.

“You didn’t hafta fire me.”

“Well if I did not, there would always be the power imbalance of our social statuses--”

“Quit overthinking it!” Stanley shut up Ford by pressing a hand to his mouth. “I love you too, alright? Now shut yer yaps and kiss me. I’ve wanted this forever.”

Ford’s annoyed expression melted and he gently pried the bear paw-like hand from his mouth. “So have I,” he said, kissing Stanley once more. 

And they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> did i read this thru to catch any spelling/grammar errors? no.


End file.
